The Techie and The Consulting Detective
by Warehouse-14-Agent
Summary: Slight Alternative Universe. Instead of Sherlock's new flatmate becoming Dr. Watson, it is instead a bright young woman by the name of Alaska Courbet. She's in need of some excitement, and he's in need of a companion. With Sherlock there's never a dull moment, and who could say no to having a redhead computer savvy as a sidekick?
1. Chapter 1: The Techie Across The Diner

Rain dripped down lightly from the silvery-gray painted heavens which was all usual weather in the smog of London, England. Sherlock Holmes had settled himself down at a table in a local cafe, his blue-silver-green gaze was focused out the window. He watched as individuals walked along the sidewalks, some darting into nearby shops to escape the cold, and taxis passed every now or so. Sherlock sighed to himself, and shook his head allowing his brunet curls to bounce around like atoms. There were two things on his mind, one: the murder case he was currently trying to solve. That was most important, and most exciting, the other: the need for a flatmate.

Someone who could help pay the rent of an apartment, and even a companion to help with solving cases. Things were beginning to become less exciting without another to share it with. Sherlock turned his gaze away, and gazed around at all the others in the cafe. A young woman, no more than the age of nineteen-years-old, caught his attention. She sat a few tables away at a booth near the window, a three-year-old laptop was at her fingertips, and a cup of French vanilla coffee beside the computer.

She had bright reddish-brownish hair that went down to her shoulders, and she was a little thing for a girl of her age. No taller than five foot three inches, and no heavier than ninety pounds. Pale skin, and bright amber-golden eyes that could be mistaken for the actually stone of the same color. He watched as she pressed various keys on her computer at a time, pausing to study whatever was on her laptop screen, and then proceeding to type on. A computer tech savvy, Sherlock deciphered from keen observations only Sherlock could make.

A computer tech savvy meant that she had to be rather creative and intelligent. She could be someone he could work with. Without any further analyze over the girl, he stood up from where he sat, and walked over to where she sat. "Sexy British dude with nice curls approaches, stops, and sits down in front of the mildly amused redheaded teenager." the young woman acknowledged, finishing up her typing before leaning back against her booth seat, and staring up at Sherlock with her amber-golden gaze.

Headstrong, outgoing, spontaneous, lovable, confident, determined, and borderline intrusive individual. All characteristics Sherlock could see now that she had spoken to him. He noted how she had called herself a teenage as well. She still considered herself a child, but in reality it was obvious the girl was mature far beyond her years. Yet, it all depended how much caffeine she had consumed that day, and who she was with for that matter. Perhaps, the only really problem he would ever encounter with her is if he tried to go off on his own. She'd be intrusive, and most likely wouldn't allow him to travel alone. He could manage that when the time came however.

"Can you sit down, dude? You're making me feel shorter, and when I'm sitting down is the only time I can feel taller than people." she chuckled, Sherlock allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch into a small smile before taking a seat across from her.

"Alaska, Alaska Courbet." the redheaded girl introduced herself, holding out her hand for him to shake.

"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes." he introduced himself, and took her hand into his; shaking her hand very gently.

"I'm not that breakable, you know." Alaska pointed out, as she took back her hand, and popped her fingers.

"You may have never broken a bone, but I could break you just by hugging you tightly enough. You and I both know it." Sherlock purred, before taking Alaska's cup of coffee, and taking a drink out of it. Knowing all too well already that she wouldn't mind anyway.

"And yet, I wasn't hurt in the least when I had sex the first time. Your move." Alaska interjected before taking back her cup of coffee, and drinking out of it.

"You know I've done it before." Sherlock reminded her.

"Of course I know, even if I didn't. I would still suspect it, with such a great looking man like yourself." Alaska hissed playfully, her smirk still remained beautifully placed on her lips.

"Now, clarify this for me, are you looking for a flatmate as well, or you want a young bone to pick at tonight?" Alaska wondered before turning to her computer, and beginning to type once again.

"You know exactly why I came to talk to you." Sherlock murmured, locking his fingers together, and then resting his chin upon them.

"Oh, I know, I know. Although you could be looking for both, and I just might be a little too good-looking." Alaska scoffed at herself, and Sherlock watched as she copied his movement.

"I won't disagree, you're very beautiful, but at the moment I'm only looking for a flatmate." Sherlock reminded her once more.

"Alright, so, meet me at 221B Baker Street this afternoon. Yeah?" Alaska suggested, standing up from where she sat, and closing her laptop. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Holmes." Alaska murmured, gathering her laptop underneath her arm, and walking out of the shop. Sherlock watched as she left the shop, taking the cup of coffee, and drinking the last of its contents. Yes, Alaska Courbet would be a fine flatmate and an even better companion.


	2. Chapter 1: Part II: The Apartment

Alaska stood outside 221B on Baker Street, leaned up against the black metal fencing, and a cigarette in between her fingers. Soon enough a black taxi pulled up alongside the pavement, and emerged Sherlock from inside the vehicle. He noted how Alaska's cheekbones were ever so more defined when she breathed in the chemicals of the cigarette. The way she held the cigarette was beyond puzzling. Some people held it in a way that showed they only smoked for the enjoyment of it. Some people held it in a way that showed they smoked as a form of stress-relieving. Alaska held it in a mannerism that showed carelessness, and this was puzzling to Sherlock.

"Ms. Courbet." Sherlock breathed out her last name, he also noted how well it tasted in his mouth. He liked the way her name rolled off his tongue, and how he almost tasted vanilla each time he spoke it.

"I'd get used to calling me 'Mrs. Holmes', we'll more than likely be mistaken for just that." Alaska laughed, the smoke escaping from in between her teeth, and into Sherlock's nostrils. Considering the older did the same as she, the smoke was comforting to him rather than repealing as it would be to most people.

"You _want _to be mistaken as so." Sherlock smirked, he reached over and took the cigarette from in between Alaska's fingers; then took a drag from it himself before handing it back.

"And _you _don't give two shits, in fact, you find it amusing in a 'oh-you're-so-cute' manner." Alaska purred as she took a long drag from the cigarette, flicking off the ash, and blowing the smoke straight into his face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the younger, "Oh, whatever, shall we go in now?" he scoffed. The curly-haired man walked up to the door, inserted the key into the lock, and opened the door. He stepped aside, allowing for Alaska to enter in first, and he followed promptly after her.

"Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called out for the landlady, as him and Alaska approached an apartment door that was locked.

"Oh, hello Sherlock, and my, who's this? A bit young, don't you think?" Mrs. Hudson greeted him before quickly turning her attention to Alaska. The old blond-haired woman then began unlocking the apartment door, and pushing it out to allow the two of them inside.

"Mrs. Hudson, this is Alaska Courbet; she'll be sharing the apartment with me now, as well as the rent payment." Sherlock introduced the younger female to that of the older. Alaska held her hand out to Mrs. Hudson for her to shake, and Mrs. Hudson shook hands with her in a mutual greeting formality. Although Alaska noticed how Mrs. Hudson gave her a look that said 'You know what you're getting into right, love?', but Alaska brushed it off. Of course she knew what she was getting into, she was getting some excitement put back into her life, and excitement was a drug that never failed to get anyone hooked.

"Alright, well, there are two other bedrooms upstairs if you two will be needing them." Mrs. Hudson murmured before exiting the room to leave Sherlock and Alaska alone. The redheaded girl wandered about the small apartment, associating herself with what would become familiar surroundings, and Alaska wandered off into the kitchen where many of Sherlock's beakers filled with mysterious chemicals in them were placed on the table.

"You didn't pay attention in Chemistry, or you wouldn't be so wondrous like a child." Sherlock mocked from where he sat on top of a leather chair in the living room area of the apartment. His eyes were closed, and he had his hands pressed together like many statues of Holy Mary had.

"And you are thinking deeply, obsessive compulsive thoughts might I add, yet at the same time there are blank spots where the most ordinary information should be contained yet you simply just do not care." Alaska pointed out, being careful to walk quietly out of the kitchen area as she approached him. Just as she reached out with her arms to push him off the chair, he re-opened his eyes, and smirked at the younger who glared back at him.

"And you think deeply in general, such a deep understanding of the world at such a young age. You've been deeply sad since you were around the age of thirteen, and yet you've never had an understanding of why. Yet you've found happiness in many things throughout life, but at the same time you willed for something more than just happiness. Which is how you've now come to be with me." Sherlock vented on about obvious things, at least to him they were, about Alaska.

"Yet you're unclear as to why I smoke." Alaska muttered, crossing her arms against her chest. Sherlock looked up at the girl towering over him, the look on his face told her that she was correct. Alaska sighed as she broke underneath the gaze of the older.

"I smoke to die." Alaska clarified for her new companion, his black pupils widened in surprise at her answer, but he didn't get a chance to respond as Lestrade walked into their flat. Alarmed by the sudden entry of the person, Alaska pulled out a small handgun, and pointed it at the man.

"A feisty flatmate we have here, don't we?" Lestrade questioned rhetorically, walking over to stand beside Sherlock who was beginning to question him on a subject Alaska knew everything of. It was of the recent suicides, another one apparently occurred from what Alaska could gather from what information the man Sherlock called Lestrade was spatting out.

"Who's in charge of the forensics?" Sherlock wondered as he began to gather his coat and scarf from the various places they had been thrown about in the room.

"Anderson," Lestrade answered, only to receive a slight moan from the curly-haired man. "No, no, no. Anderson will not work with me; I'll need an assistant." Sherlock murmured mainly to himself as he tied his scarf around his neck.

"Aha, yes! This is exactly what I was looking for!" Alaska exclaimed gleefully, earning an odd look from Lestrade, but an amused look from Sherlock. The three of them exited the apartment to make their way to the crime scene.


	3. Chapter 1: Part III: She Likes It Too

As soon as Alaska stepped out of the black taxi car, she began choking on the ignorance of the individuals around her. It made her want to take one of the suicide pills herself. Or what they thought to be suicide pills, no, of course that's not what it was. Yet, everyone around them saw and knew what they saw; however they chose not to observe.

"It's all murder." Alaska breathed to her partner in solving crime as the two of them walked across the street towards the house where the apparent suicide had occurred.

"Of course it is, but - everyone's to daft to observe in such." Sherlock started off, and finished with Alaska's voice over his. Sherlock looked down at the younger female, his lips twisting into a half smile before it disappeared as a rather displeasing voice to hear was indeed heard.

"What are you doing here, freak?" an unfamiliar African American woman wondered, crossing her arms against her chest, and her brown eyes fixated upon the curly-haired man. Before Sherlock could respond in a much similar distasteful and dry tone of voice, he felt a surge of hostility rush through him, but the feeling was not of his own. He turned to look over at Alaska, who now stood with a far more taller stance to appear more intimidating, and had a furious gleam in her amber eyes. The few pieces of choppy-cut hair that laid across her shoulders sort of bristled like a cat who felt it was endangered.

"Excuse me, but I know you've not a right to call him a freak. He could not help you, but you know you need him a lot more than he needs you. Therefore I would back off your bark when you can't even bit." Alaska snarled back in a much more defiant and punctured tone of voice.

Sherlock's eyes widened at the sudden outburst from the latter. Easily offended? No, that wasn't the case. Over-protective? Yes, that was exactly the case. For the tiny thing that she was, Sherlock could tell that in her earlier years she used to get into tons of fights and arguments as she tried to defend her companions against anyone who dared to upset them in any mannerism. He smirked a bit as he only imagined what it was about to be like when she met Anderson.

"Alaska," Sherlock breathed her sweet vanilla name to get her attention before anything else between the two women could be said. He then began walking away in which Alaska briskly followed along.

"You know it's quite unnecessary and childish to be so over-protective." Sherlock acknowledged quietly to the red-brown-haired girl beside him.

"You know that trait is apart of my personality, and that is something I can't change." Alaska pointed out, and Sherlock rolled his eyes at the latter statement before ushering his partner into the house to begin working on the crime scene.

"Holmes, I don't want you contaminating the scene, and whoever this is that you've brought with you." Anderson remarked as soon as the two of them approached where he stood at the bottom of the staircase.

"First of all, my name's Alaska; second of all, give us five minutes because we sure as Hell were not dragged up here for nothing." Alaska hissed, clearly becoming more and more irritated with how the other investigators talked to Sherlock.

"A little young to be talking to me like that, aren't you?" Anderson scolded, looking down upon the redheaded girl who stared back at him with the absolute most serious face.

"Listen here you little shi-

"Just give us five minutes." Sherlock interrupted Alaska before she could snap another insult, as he grabbed a hold of her wrist, and dragged her up the staircase. He lead them into the room where the woman in pink laid peacefully on the floor. Sherlock let go of her wrist, and began to observe various things about the woman.

"That's Rachel, not the German word for revenge. Many blocks would make that mistake, and I bet they already have." Alaska hissed quietly before casting a dark gaze to Anderson who now stood in the doorway of the room. Sherlock looked over to see that the name Rachel was craved into old wooden floor. He examined the woman's pink painted fingernails to see that they were indeed torn and tattered just as suspected.

"She's not from here, and she had just arrived here obviously. She's no business to be in this house, honestly. I mean, this wasn't her appointed destination to begin with. Although for some reason, someone had the motive to give her the pill to kill herself, but all for what?" Alaska murmured aloud to herself. Sherlock stared up at the younger girl who held such a thoughtful look. She truly was something intelligent, she was so compatible to him, and it felt so nice to be working with someone who could amount to his wit.

"Where's her suitcase?" Sherlock questioned Anderson as he stood to his feet.

"There wasn't a suitcase here." Anderson acknowledged.

"Her murderer still had it, but obviously he would've removed it the moment he noticed he still had it. That's not rather important though. I mean, you'd think he'd be close by to wherever he put away the case, but you'd honestly have to be stupid to think that. Then again most of you are pretty daft, but that's for later discussion. We don't need to find the case, just the murderer." Alaska supposed.

"Alright, who even let this girl in here?!" Anderson hissed, taking offense to being called daft by the young girl.

"But what if the case has something important in it? That could lead us to the murderer. We should still attempt to find it." Sherlock told Alaska.

"I don't suppose so, Holmes. I mean, what murderer would put anything into the case that would lead to them?...Oh wait! Fingerprints! On the suitcase, fingerprints would be left on it when he or she picked it up! We need to find the suitcase!" Alaska exclaimed before pushing past Anderson, and making her way down the staircase to get to a cab.

Sherlock soon hurried after his female companion, but by the time he had reached the outside Alaska had gotten into a cab to head off to elsewhere. "Why are you dragging that poor girl into your freaky murder business?"Sally Donovan questioned him. Sherlock turned around to look at the woman, before calmly answering:

"She's like me, you know. She likes it too."


	4. Chapter 1: Part IV: Doctor Who?

Sherlock found Alaska in an alleyway, staring up at a dumpster with a rather displeased and irritated gaze in her amber eyes. "I'm too short." Alaska murmured angrily underneath her breath as she heard him approach her.

He smiled at this obvious fact, reached up, but was stopped by his tiny partner. "Don't touch, not without these." Alaska muttered, taking a pair of gloves out from her back pocket and handing them off to Sherlock. The curly-haired man rolled his eyes, reached up with the gloves on this time, and grabbed the pink suitcase. The two of them made their way out of the alley, and back out into the streets of London. Alaska called a cab to halt, and they climbed in was taken back to their apartment for further analyses.

Alaska brushed a special powder across the handle of the suitcase to reveal fingerprints upon it. She took her makeshift phone in which was able to scan and identify who the fingerprints belonged to. However, whoever the murderer was touched the suitcase after the woman had. Which of course caused the woman's fingerprints to mix with the murderer's, and that caused an error with the identification.

"No! You shit thing!" Alaska growled, furious at the device's inability to identify who the fingerprints belonged to. Sherlock watched as the frustrated girl pulled out a pink cellular phone from her jacket's pocket, and begin to furiously type out something before hitting one last button to send off the message.

"Come on," Alaska told him, jamming both her phone and the mysterious pink phone into her pocket before retreating out the door.

Sherlock tried reading at what Alaska was doing, but unlike when he met her earlier, he couldn't read her anymore. It was as if when she became determined or angered with a particular situation, there was this entire lock down of any other emotions or thoughts. For once in his life, Sherlock was unable to tell the motives of a person, and that honestly terrified him to an extent.

Therefore he followed briskly after his younger companion, who hauled a cab once again, and the two of them climbed in. Alaska repeated the address from the coffee shop the two of them met to the cab driver before turning to Sherlock.

"The phone is the woman's, I found it on the ground where we found the suitcase. I've text messaged the killer with her phone the address. He'll either A: flip out and come to see as to what's happened as he knows his victim is supposed to be dead, or B: come anyway, because he wants to get caught. He knew he dropped the phone, but left it there because he wants to be caught. Do I know why? No, do I care? No, not really." Alaska informed him quickly.

Sherlock stared at the young girl, there was such determination in her amber eyes that made them turn into a blazing fire that could burn someone with just one glance. Then something inside his mind clicked about Alaska. Someone who was this intensely focused on solving the murder case obviously has had an occupation dealing with this sort of stuff. She wasn't even exactly frustrated, a little bit probably because it wasn't turning out to be as simple as she supposed, but other than that she was getting off on it. Just like Sherlock, she really was just like him.

The two of them retreated out of the cab and into the cafe, sitting down at a booth next to a window to get a perfect view of anything happening across the street. Sherlock watched as Alaska kept anxiously glancing across the street, always jumping slightly when she saw a taxi passed by, but only sulking back down when she realized it wasn't the correct one.

"Alaska, what did you do before you moved to London?" Sherlock wondered, it was so odd to have non-rhetorical questions coming out his mouth, but he still couldn't read her as well as before. He knew she was a computer savvy, but that brought up multiple occupations that she could have been involved in.

"I was a computer hacker, criminals would hire me to hack through security camera systems to get them into banks to steal money. I was then, in return, paid a good amount of the money they stole." Alaska explained. Sherlock then felt a wave of observations hit him as he was able to detect things from Alaska. She was beginning to calm down a bit, and was beginning to open up again like a flower blooming in the spring.

He watched as the nineteen-year-old in front of him aged into a fourteen-year-old girl. A fourteen-year-old girl who had once been starving on the streets of Chicago, Illinois. Her parents having died in a car crash, and her only remaining family member being an older alcoholic brother. She ran away from her home, and just began living on the streets. Stealing food from shops and other places, whilst sometimes strumming a guitar mindlessly on the street corner while individuals dropped change into her black hat.

After awhile, she began to hack into security systems of stores to steal various items. Word got around, and soon enough it was this small business of hers. Criminals would ask for her to hack into the security systems of banks so that they could steal money, and of course in return she was given some of the money as well. The local news station of Chicago only knew her as her anonymous tag 'Knock Knock'. She continued this until she was nineteen, then with all the money that she had gathered she bought herself a passport to London, and off she was to England. Now, she was left in the hands of Sherlock Holmes.

"I need to solve these crimes, because I think it'll undo the bad I've done. I know it won't completely erase it, that much is obvious, but it's like saying to the world: 'Hey, I know I fucked up this one time, but here let me do this to pay for it.'" Alaska explained.

Sherlock had never really experienced sympathy for anyone. Yet, for the oddest of reasons he suddenly felt a bit of sorrow for the young girl. He placed his hand on top of hers in which laid limp on the cafe table. Although Alaska faced the window staring anxiously out it, he watched as the corner of her lips upturned into a smile. It was only for a few moments before Alaska jumped up with an excited and determined gleam in her eyes.

"That! That's our taxi!" Alaska shout-whispered before jumping out of her seat, and rushing out of the coffee shop door. Sherlock ran after her, and just as the two retreated out of the cafe, the taxi sped away down the street.

"Nice to meet you, Sherlock. Now, run for your life." Alaska murmured to Sherlock quietly and quickly before dashing off into an alleyway, and disappearing into the shadows. Sherlock didn't have much time to recollect any thoughts at this point, knowing that if he didn't catch up he'd lose the redheaded girl, and therefore he took off after her into the darkness.


	5. Chapter 1: Part V: Let The Flames Begin

Sherlock watched as Alaska ran down the alleyway, and then jumped a surprising amount while she reached for a retractable staircase leading up to the roof of an apartment building. She gripped onto it, and allowed for gravity to pull her and the staircase down to the ground. The curly-haired man followed quickly behind her as she climbed up the staircase to get to the rooftop. He was familiar with the backstreets of London, but he could tell that Alaska had absolutely no idea as to where in the world she was going exactly.

All she knew was that she needed to go after the cab. Alaska pulled out a gravel-hook gun, shot it up at a building farther and higher scaled than the one they currently stood upon, and with a running start she swung towards the next rooftop. She landed safely on the other side, she cocked back the gun, and the graveling hook retracted. Sherlock held out his hands as Alaska tossed him the gun for him to use, and after using it just as she had demonstrated the blinded race began again.

Sherlock was impressed at how well she seemed to understand the backstreets even though she had arrived in London no more than twelve hours before. It took the two of them about ten minutes to reach their destination point as well as the cab's. Sherlock pulled out his 'police' identification, and stopped the taxi from continuing any further. Alaska opened up the backseat of the taxi, and began questioning the man despite how Sherlock knew Alaska knew this man was not the mass murderer.

"Well, what do we do now?" Alaska wondered, asking a proper question for the first time in a while.

"Why are you asking me? You seem to be the one leading us now." Sherlock pointed out.

"I've realized that you should probably do the investigating, and the leading, and the anything else that comes with all this shit. I mean, I think I'm meant to be Rose Tyler." Alaska murmured. "That doesn't mean I'm completely portraying myself to be the usual female sidekick, but I mean...this is more of your area than mine. Until I get the feel of everything, I can remain a minor." Alaska added.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow in a questioning expression at the girl, not really quite understanding what she was doing. Then he looked at the way she ran her fingers through her bangs, and how she exhale as if she were breathing out smoke. She was angry, she was disappointed, and she wanted someone else to blame rather than herself. Therefore she was giving him back his position as if she had taken it in the first place. Alaska hadn't really, he just wasn't acting as he usually did. He was more of just sitting back, watching what she did, and making sure she didn't get hurt. Like a mother lioness teaching her cub to hunt.

He watched Alaska walked alongside him, the swing of her hips and the way her hair would lift up in the soft breeze. Such a beautiful little thing she is, Sherlock thought to himself. He had never really appreciated the beauty of any women he had ever met, but with Alaska it was different. He couldn't look at her without noticing just little things about her that made her so attractive. How when she would smoke, her cheekbones were more defined. Even down to her tiny eyelashes that he imagined feeling across his cheek, a butterfly's kiss, is what they called that gesture.

The two of them climbed up the small stairs to 221B, opened the door, and made their way up to their small apartment loft. Yet, they were greeted with many policemen and fellow investigators in their flat.

"What the fuck is going on?" Alaska and Sherlock wondered in unison upon walking into the living room area of the apartment.

"Hey! They dug through the evidence! You bastards!" Alaska shouted in frustration upon seeing the clothes that were in the suitcase disoriented.

"Drug search, a drug search." Sherlock murmured as he realized what they were doing here, but of course Alaska wasn't one for such a calm approach to things like this.

"Drug search, my ass! They probably came here, because someone told them we found the suitcase. And either A: they wanted to 'prove' within some sort of manner that their very own consulting detective did it, or B: they wanted to take it for themselves instead of letting us handle it." Alaska hissed, glaring at just about everyone in the room that wasn't Sherlock.

"Sherlock, can't keep your pet quiet? A bitch -

"Don't call her that!" Sherlock defended Alaska while walking over to stand in front of the redheaded girl who was giving Anderson a death glare.

"Now, why the fuck are you doing a drug search?" Alaska questioned Lestrade.

"We've heard Sherlock here has drugs, and we're searching." Lestrade explained simply.

"I know damn well Sherlock doesn't have drugs." Alaska retaliated quickly.

"Well, how do we know that? You were smoking when you came in here. Did Sherlock give you that cigarette? Are you even of age to be smoking?" Lestrade wondered.

"No, that was one of her own cigarettes, and she's obviously of age." Sherlock snapped back for Alaska, as he answered he couldn't help but to glance at Alaska's chest. Then again, of course Lestrade didn't have observation skills like the curly-haired man did. Upon having seen his action, Alaska caught a gaze with Sherlock before winking and rolling her eyes at him.

"There you have it, Sherlock doesn't have drugs, and I've only just moved in. This search was uncalled for, and in America we could turn you in for this, but instead I could just be the stereotypical American and punch you in the face. Yet, at the same time I wouldn't be able to ask you this: why did you search in the suitcase?" Alaska wondered.

"Just in case he had placed drugs into the suitcase." Lestrade supposed.

"Oh, that is ridiculous! I'm going outside to smoke." Sherlock hissed, he wasn't exactly sure where that reply came from, but he felt the need to get outside. There was something out there for him, and he needed to get to it. Alaska, to make it all the better, actually gave him a cigarette of hers and then followed him out into the night once again.

And standing there, waiting for them, was the same cab they had chased downtown. Leaning up against the cab was the man that had driven it, and both the consulting detective and the techie knew that this was the murderer.

And they were fixing to get some answers.


	6. Chapter VI: Suicide

"Oh, how painfully obvious." Sherlock murmured as he stared at the cabbie driver that stood in front of them. "Yet so discreet, for nobody suspects the quiet kid in the back of the class to have the gun to kill them all." Alaska pointed out, sucking tentatively on her cigarette. "I've heard about you two, been warned about you two. A "high-functioning sociopath" and a young, but very intelligent criminal." The cabbie told them. "Who told you of us?" Sherlock wondered, but the cabbie didn't answer this question of his.

"If you want the details, get in the cab." the cabbie told him, before going around the cab, and into the driver's seat. Sherlock looked at Alaska, who simply glared at the cabbie before throwing her dead cigarette onto the ground and getting into the cab. Sherlock could feel different thoughts piercing her head, and he could feel her internally screaming as it her so much. Just like a young girl getting her ears pierced for the first time. For the first time since they began the investigation on this case, she wasn't focused on it. She was focused on something entirely different, something entirely sadistic and horrifying to her or she wouldn't be so silent while on the inside she sobbed.

Sherlock followed Alaska into the car, and in the silence of the car ride it was much easier to hear Alaska's thoughts. He couldn't tell exactly what was going in the adolescence's mind, but one moment there was the pounding of a drum and then next it was so quiet a pin dropping could be heard. Sherlock wondered what was going on inside her head, but he didn't ask. He knew it would be best if he didn't ask while someone was having a war inside their head.

Soon enough, the two detectives and the murderer arrived at an empty school building. Alaska and Sherlock followed the old man into the building, up and up onto higher floors until they came into an old college-like classroom.

"Which one of you two will be first?" the cabbie wondered.

"I will." Alaska answered immediate. Sherlock looked deep into her eyes, and saw that there was no determination. There wasn't a single emotion within the depths of her amber orbs, there was nothingness. Like looking into an abyss, there was only darkness. There was common sense, and Sherlock sure enough had that.

"No, I will." Sherlock intercepted. Alaska looked at him in his silver eyes, and there was an emotion that flickered in her eyes like a flame. Yet, Sherlock wasn't quite sure what emotion it was. He half expected for some sort of defiant response to come after his remark, but nothing came. Therefore he walked over and sat across from the old man.

"Well, you know how this works don't you?" the cabbie began, pulling out two bottles filled with one identical pill in each. "You choose which pill first, I take the remaining. We take both at the same time, and we'll really see who's the smarter one." the cabbie added.

"And if I don't?" Sherlock challenged, and watched as the cabbie placed his elbow on the table with a gun in his hand. "I'll shoot." the cabbie threatened, "Funnily enough, no one's gone for that option."

"I'll take the gun please," Sherlock told the cabbie.

"Are you sure?" the cabbie asked.

"The gun," Sherlock stated confidently, he watched for a moment as the cabbie glanced at Alaska. Sherlock knew that Alaska knew the gun was a fake, yet it seemed as though she didn't even quite have the strength to stop the murderer even if the gun were real. Sherlock had ascertained what Alaska was going through at the moment, and he knew he'd need to talk to her about it later.

The cabbie pulled the trigger, and as Sherlock the only thing that went off was a little flickering flame. Sherlock tried to keep himself from smiling, and attempted to remain in a serious composition.

"So, are you going to choose or not?" the cabbie wondered, gesturing towards the pills. There was a long moment of silence as Sherlock stared at the small bottles with pills inside each. Sherlock was just about to question the cabbie, but before anything could be said or done. An arm blocked Sherlock's vision, and he sat back in his seat. Alaska had grabbed one of the pill bottles.

"Alaska, what are you doing?!" Sherlock cried out, standing out of his chair, and whipping around to confront the girl. Ready to yank the pill out of her hand. Yet, it was all too late. She'd already uncapped the bottle and swallowed the pill. Sherlock stood back in horror, as to what would happen next. Wishing dearly that this young, intelligent, exciting girl would not drop dead. It seemed as though time stopped all around them, Sherlock stared at the redheaded girl pleading silently that the pill she'd taken was the one without an effect.

For a split second, a look of disapproval and disappointment spread across her eyes. Then she smiled maliciously, and pulled out a small handgun. She pointed it at the cabbie, and threateningly she placed her finger on the trigger.

"Your turn." she hissed, Sherlock noticed how their was such a malice gleam in her silver eyes. As if the man made one false move, she'd pull the trigger, and kill the man.

The cabbie looked around frantically as if to make an escape plan, but it was clear that Alaska wasn't going to allow that.

"The pill or the gun, take your pick." Alaska whispered in a dangerously low voice. Sherlock had not expected such rational decisions from the girl, and certainly not for her to turn into some sort of non-merciful being who despite being so small could terrify anyone at the moment.

The cabbie attempted to compose himself, with a serious expression and crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. Sherlock didn't suppose Alaska was going to actually pull the trigger.

And yet,  
there was a crack.

Alaska had pulled the trigger, and shot the old man just a few inches away from his heart. Alaska walked over to the bleeding man, and stood over him.

"You did this for money, who provided that money for you?! Who was your sponsor!?" Alaska questioned, the cabbie merely breathed rapidly through his nose and out his mouth.

"Tell me!" Alaska shouted, placing her foot on his wound and causing him even more pain.

"Moriarty!" the dying man screamed in pain, and Alaska took her foot off him. Alaska nodded her head, and began walking towards the door. Sherlock looked at her and then looked at the dying cabbie before rushing after the younger female.

"What was that, Alaska?" Sherlock wondered, after catching up to the redhead.

"Getting answers with force, not your style?" Alaska questioned, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. She took a drag from it before handing it to Sherlock, he looked at it for a moment before grabbing it, and taking a small drag from it then handing it back to her.

"You didn't know which pill was which, and you weren't doing it to take the risk to get answers. You did it because you lost. You lost against the voices inside your head. You did it because you wanted to die. Just as the pill was 'meant' for. Suicide." Sherlock deducted out loud to Alaska.

"Correct again, Mr. Holmes." Alaska murmured while breathing out smoke.

"You weren't scared, had this been your first attempt at suicide, you would've been scared. You've done this before. Six times." Sherlock pointed out.

"Once correct again, Holmes." Alaska breathed, taking one last long drag of her cigarette before throwing it on the ground and stamping on it. Only to continue walking along beside her partner.

"You've done so much bad, that you think that you should die." Sherlock added finally, and Alaska stopped for a moment. Yet, continued walking nevertheless after a moment or so.

"Yeah, but that doesn't matter." Alaska muttered, refusing to look in Sherlock's icy-blue gaze.

"Of course it does." Sherlock pointed out; Alaska finally looked at him in the eyes with a rather confused expression on her face.

"I'd be nothing without my friend." Sherlock stated, the redheaded girl smiled, and the two walked back in the comfortable silence back to Baker Street.


End file.
